my fictional autobiography

birthdays

Happy 87th birthday, Dad. Twenty-three years. For a memory-challenged person such as me, I can remember so clearly every detail from the phone call, the wax dummy that lay in your coffin, visitations, funeral, burial, picking up the pieces for mom. Three weeks later I headed home in a world that was lesser.

I miss over twenty years of graveyard conversations; taking care of the bonsai rhododendron and azalea next to your headstone. Despite the problems, I took care of mom. I was sure you wanted me to.

Four years ago, we put mom next to you. Her spirit died the day you did. I believe she is truly at rest, back to my original mother again.

Of all the crazy things you said or warped ideas you came up with, I decided my favourite: your offer to buy me a ONE-WAY ticket to anywhere in the world I wanted to go. I wonder what you’ve done if I took you up on the offer, asked you to fly me to some place 1/2 way round the globe, like Patagonia or New Zealand?

So, happy birthday. And, no, we will not toast you with a glass of Mateus! A glass of white and red wine but not the Christmas-birthday-Easter-Thanksgiving-Anniversary-World Series-Stanley Cup-First-Lawn-Mowing-Big-Pick-Up-Garbage-Day-whatever-reason-you-could-come-up-with that a bottle of Mateus was needed with supper. Thank goodness, from my perspective, that it was a sorta rosé, close enough to red that I had an excuse to open a bottle of white!

hummingbirds

Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying our hopes for love, joy, celebration. The hummingbird's delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life's sweetest creation.